


Into the Lion's Den

by Vermilion_Sunrise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Civil War, F/M, Mercenary Sandor, POV Sandor Clegane, POV Sansa Stark, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-06-19 13:04:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15510510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vermilion_Sunrise/pseuds/Vermilion_Sunrise
Summary: Modern A/U,SanSan -- The setting is similar to the war in the Balkons, for those of us who are old enough to remember this.With the death of Lord Eddard Stark at the hands of the Lannisters, Westeros descends into a bitter and bloody civil war, the likes of which never before seen on the island. Sandor is a soldier of fortune in Essos sent, with a group of other like minded soldiers, by a mysterious patron to the war zone of Westeros with one simple task: Get Sansa Stark out alive. When the mission goes pear shaped, Sandor is forced to make some decisions that will change the course of the war, and his own life. Told from both points of view -- this will be a slowburn, which is unusual from my other stories.There’s no AO3 warning for this -- be prepared for some Baelish creep.





	1. The Suicide Mission

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So it's a terrible habit of mine to start another work just after I finish one....I tend to reach critical mass very quickly but ok. I've been reading so many fantastic modern AUs these days that I felt compelled to dust off this idea. I've been thinking on it for a while, but just didn't trust myself to do it. Fingers crossed that it will be entertaining.
> 
> Note: This may not be a love story, possibly more of a lust story ;-) Let's see what happens!

#  **Chapter 1:  The Suicide Mission**

##  **Sandor**

 

It had taken Sandor exactly thirty-five minutes from the time he received the call, negotiated the down payment, confirmed the money was on his account and packed his shit to make it to the extraction point. It was approximately five minutes into the briefing he was able to deduce this was a suicide mission -- and he wasn’t the only one in the room to think so. Sandor had assembled in the tiny unairconditioned and windowless room in Essos, with a crew of men who could have been considered the Dream Team of mercenaries. Some of them Sandor knew from previous jobs. Barristan Selmy was an old experienced fighter. He’d gotten Sandor out of a few pinches, particularly when they were hold up in the Mountains of the Morn. Jorah Mormont had fought with Sandor beyond the Wall in Westeros -- it was fucking cold and a shit campaign which saw many of their confederates dead. Beric Dondarrion, Bronn of the Blackwater and Gendry Waters Sandor knew from reputation alone -- and it unsettled even a brute like him to share a room with them. They had all fought in wars of questionable objectives, turned the tide of revolutions and killed innocents -- murdered populations. Heavy shit when you thought about it -- all for money.

 

Sandor didn’t have a choirboy reputation himself, that was clear from the way some of the men regarded him as he had walked into the room. For one his appearance was something of a curiosity, even in the mercenary world. It just added to his intrigue, so Sandor never spoke about his face -- it was better that way. Better to keep them wondering than to tell them the truth. Then he was also freakishly large, his muscular physique impressive to men who were regarded as special forces. He was tall, broad and fast for his size -- with stamina to boot.  On top of that there were very few men among the mercenaries who could say they fought in the Dothraki wars and had lived to tell about it. He had. It had been a useless war, one that had won the governments of the free cities nothing and had only caused a worse civil war and chaos. It had been years of starving people, unruling Dothraki hoards fighting the government and fighting each other. A disaster if there had ever been one -- and if there was a disaster to be had, Sandor was generally in the thick of it. His involvement in conflicts read like a laundry list of the most dangerous places on earth. Sandor had lost some good friends in that war though-- fuck he’d almost lost himself for that matter.  

 

Sure, he’d started out in the military like most of the men here. Serving a lord of Westeros and believing in what they were doing. HIs size and prowess on the battlefield had seen him promoted to the special forces, where he excelled. Sandor liked to kill, there were very few things in the world sweeter than that. So getting a chance to kill your enemy face to face, to watch the life leave them as you stood over them motivated Sandor. As time went on, he found that he didn’t really have a loyalty to the lords he was employed by -- that the Stranger was his only real lord if one could think of it like that. So he quit the special forces and went into business for himself -- a soldier of fortune in Essos, a whore with a gun as the guys in the business often joked. Sandor himself had nothing against whores, he knew the value of doing a job others found immoral or distasteful. He thrived on it as a matter of fact. 

 

But this mission, had been wrong from the beginning. It had stunk to seven high heavens and Sandor had raised his concerns. “Varys.” He interrupted the little bald man. He was not their patron, merely a broker -- which made the mission even more concerning. “You’re telling me you think you know where she is and you are just gonna drop us off to do a little treasure hunt? To chase a ghost! We’ll be exposed from the moment that helicopter crosses into Westerosi territory.”

 

The civil war that raged on his homeland was bad, weapons were being used by rebellious fractions on both sides that should have never had them. Ever since Lord Eddard Stark had been ousted from power, publically decapitated and his family murdered -- the power of the seven hells had been unleashed. Chemical weapons, gases, weapons that could wreak mass destruction had fallen into the hands of some very bad people. It was a difficult place to survive in now and he didn’t think the last Stark Princess, the rightful ruler of Westeros, had lived through that shitstorm. If the Lannisters hadn’t been able to put it together for two years, it wasn’t so far fetched to say the Princess would be able to do better if she came back to power. 

 

_ ‘Or is that not the true goal of this mission.’ _ Sandor wondered to himself.

 

Their broker stopped what he was doing and interlaced his fingers at his waist. “Clegane. There’s been no intel on her or her whereabouts for almost two years and now she suddenly pops up. We have to chase her down before she  _ becomes _ a ghost.”

 

His brethren shifted uneasily in their seats, for they knew he spoke the truth but money talked -- and Varys had promised them a lot. Actually, he had promised that the one who found her and brought her out of Westeros alive would have his second payment -- 2 million Golden Dragons -- you could retire to the Summer Isles with that money. And that was the problem with the whole thing, they were in competition with one another, not a true team. It stunk.

 

“Any of you are free to go and keep your down payment. It just means more for the others.” Varys was threatening them. There was no way they would walk out of there with the money and their lives. For a man who got his balls shot off in an intel dispute years ago -- Varys had a pretty large imaginary pair to talk to the gathering of men here like that.

 

When nobody spoke up, he continued by handing out pictures of the girl. There were some whistles to be heard in the room as the men got a good look at her.  _ ‘Bloody seven hells.’  _ Sandor thought as he first glimpsed her. She was beautiful, red hair, blue eyes -- the face of the Maiden. Sandor had snorted then, realizing that Varys had only said bring her back alive but had not stipulated her condition. He was sure the men in the room were all thinking the same thing, all with their own little fantasies running through their heads. As for him, he didn’t give a shit to fuck her. Women like that were starfish, attracting men with their looks and not with their skill.

 

_ ‘There’s no way in hell she’s alive. And if she is -- she’s not that pretty anymore.’ _ Women didn’t survive warzones well. He and his mercenary companions knew that, also taking advantage of the population when it suited them. 

 

Even if they did find her alive she’d be difficult, and Sandor hated this. Women who could handle themselves with confidence were much more his speed -- not a pretty pretty princess born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Just the thought of dragging her through the mud to get to the extraction point, which Varys had not yet given them, made him feel uncomfortable. 

 

_ ‘If I find her, I’ll tape her pretty mouth shut and strap her to my back.’  _ He promised himself. _ ‘The sooner she’s out of my hands the better.’ _

 

“Remember gentlemen, we need the princess back safely, and all documents and trinkets found on her person. Do I make myself clear?” There was a quality to Varys’ words that Sandor didn’t like -- alluding to more than what he was saying. He was used to dealing with unsavory characters, liked the thrill of it -- but Varys was a different kind of unsavory. The kind that made you want to disinfect yourself for days after you shook his hand. “Then I wish you all the best of luck.”

 

Sandor didn’t like it, not in the least. But he didn’t speak up after that, just went along with what was happening next. Folding the picture and putting into his flack jacket Sandor followed his comrades into the next room which was a weapons wonderland. Anything and everything they could have wanted was there. Forgetting they were actually competing against one another, and that they might even use the guns on each other at some point, the men rushed the tables in a bid to get their hands on their favorite kinds of weapons.

 

_ ‘It’s not right.’  _ Sandor thought again, but played it off. It was often the case that his gut told him one thing and his mind another -- and he wasn’t dead yet.There was something deathly attractive about the competition aspect of the whole thing -- Sandor had often wondered how he measured up to mercenaries of his calibre. Now he’d get a chance to see.

 

As they prepared to board the helicopter Sandor shook the hands of the men, some of them were fucking celebrities, like meeting Aegon Targaryen himself -- so of course he wanted to do it. Who knew if they would make it out of this one so it might be his last chance. Little did Sandor know those would be very precocious thoughts as the men finalized their setups and got into the helicopter.

 

Fog as they neared Westeros had been the first sign of trouble -- the pilot had bad visibility and that wasn’t good in an aircraft that wasn’t supposed to go above the clouds. Then, as Sandor had predicted, the flack started hitting them.  _ ‘They were ready for us.’ _

 

“We’re in for a bumpy one boys!” Selmy had yelled from the front of the chopper. 

 

“Fuck bumpy, more like deadly!” Sandor realized as the whole aircraft was being thrown from one side to the other. 

 

Waters took a hit from enemy fire, but nothing too serious. His arm would make it. It was an ominous start though, one that left Sandor more uneasy.  _ ‘No way we haven’t been compromised.’ _

 

The projectiles being shot at them were becoming more frequent, tossing them from side to side and causing some confusion inside of the aircraft. Dondarrion was thrown from the chopper, in the confusion. There was only one way that one was gonna end, they were still pretty damn high in the sky. 

 

_ ‘A shame.’ _ Sandor thought as the chaos grew around him. 

 

Perhaps what made him good at what he did was his ability to maintain calm in these moments. There was nothing else to do now but prepare for impact and hope your life doesn’t come to an abrupt end. Shutting out everything else, Sandor gripped his lower legs and balled up, making sure his seatbelt was secure. 

 

When they hit the ground the sound was so loud he was sure his eardrums had exploded. It was enough of a noise to draw soldiers from miles around, and certainly to draw them to their location. The one with the big flaming helicopter. 

 

The world slowly stopped moving, and Sandor kept his eyes shut a moment -- trying to assess in what orientation he was. The seat belt was cutting into his arms and waist, so he was hanging toward the ground. ‘ _ Ok Dog, you can do this.’ _

 

Quickly checking if he had all of his limbs, he was surprised to find he’d come out of the crash unscathed. Even the blood on his face wasn’t his. Opening his eyes he could see his friends had not fared as well. Waters was dead, as was Selmy. Bronn was nowhere to be seen. He could hear Mormont wheezing off somewhere, but it didn’t sound like something he’d recover from. Sandor knew the difference -- if he’d been a good man, and had the time, he’d of shot him in the head and put him out of his misery.  As it stood, the sound of their crash must have carried for miles which meant he needed to get the fuck out of there. It would be swarming with foe soon enough.

 

Six feet from the ground, or so he surmised, Sandor grabbed his big combat knife and cut himself loose. He hit the floor hard, but in one piece. Taking one more look around, it was a fucking disaster, bodies, helicopter parts and tree limbs all over the place. But they were not far off their target, Sandor knew that by the stars on this night. He had grown up in Westeros, knew the stars and how to read them. They were about five miles off, not a problem. He took the map off of Selmy’s lifeless body, bid his friend a farewell and began his new adventure.

 

_ ‘If you don’t consider the militants that are coming for me and all the dead bodies, I’d say that went pretty well.’  _ His sarcasm knew no bounds as he shouldered two rifles, grabbed some ammunition, water and ran for cover. 

 

If he wasn’t mistaken, there was a bigger forest in this northerly direction, if he could make it there he could regroup -- figure out a plan and decide if he was going to finish this mission or not. Checking his radio to make sure it was working, Sandor grinned. He might just make it out of this shit hole and live to fight another day, with a little luck that is.


	2. The Bigger They Are ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa encounters a mysterious man and wonders whether he is friend or foe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this one up quickly so everybody has a sense for the story. Sometimes one chapter isn't enough ;-) I hope it has been entertaining thus far. 
> 
> Comments and constructive crit always welcome!

#  Chapter 2:  The Bigger They Are...

##  Sansa

 

It was the dead of night as Sansa heard the helicopter over head. She had never been a good sleeper, even less since the revolution. Nonetheless the sound of those blades turning above her could only mean one thing -- she had been found. Grabbing her pistol from the night stand she cocked it and went to the only wall that she knew was secure -- that which was built into a small hill. She slid to the floor. If they were coming to save her she wanted them to find her, if they were coming to kill her she needed to be ready. Though she knew the chances were not in her favor.

 

This was such a far cry from her former life, so utterly different you almost couldn’t compare them. Two years before she had been a princess, a fashionable lady with few cares other than her charities and her friends. Her head had been full of princes and highlife holidays -- she’d been a fool. A sheltered, out of touch fool. Though as the revolution began, and the walls of King’s Landing fell, she had been confronted with the fact that her life was going to change. Her family had been murdered -- somehow, through the grace of the gods or some other force, she had managed to escape her home. Lord Baelish had been able to smuggle her out of the city. She had not gotten far when the young man she was with had been killed. Shot dead right in front of her eyes. Without thinking she had picked up the gun that had fallen from his hand and shot the soldier -- killing him.  After that she had no plan -- Lord Baelish had put some money in her hand and told her to live under the radar for a while. The young man was supposed to keep contact with her mother’s childhood friend, but with his death that was no longer possible. 

 

After that Sansa had stumbled through the woods for some days, drinking water from a stream and eating berries. Unsure of how many days she had been in the wilderness, she came across a group of washerwomen, their chatter and laughter drawing her from deep within the thick wood. Not asking any questions, the women took her in, fed her and taught her their trade. It was far from glamorous, but it made money and allowed her to move from place to place. Every village needed a washerwoman or several. She had moved around alot, scraped money together and led an existence that was just on the edge. And she waited. She waited for the war to end, and her patience was running thin.

 

In an ironic turn of events this whole experience had made her more mindful of certain aspects of her life. It had changed her and not all for the worse. She had been lucky to come across some older hunters during her travels, who had shown her how to use firearms, had even fed her and made sure she was sheltered. With time she had become a good shot, and had learned how to use several other weapons as well. All in exchange for washing their clothes and cooking some food. Sansa was bad at cooking, but the old hunters had not minded. They gave her a pistol as a means of protection, “The roads are far too dangerous for a young lady.” They had told her. Eventually she had come to this tiny town at the edge of a forest. The small cottage she inhabited only because the family that had lived there, had died from illness the winter before. So the townsfolk saw no harm in Sansa taking up residence there, at least she would have the space to dry the laundry she made her coin with.

 

Sansa was trembling in her little cottage, her pistol in hand. She was not trembling from fear though, but from excitement. ‘ _ Will this be the day?’ _

 

The sound of the chopper crashing didn’t give her the best feeling in the world, in fact it made her want to vomit. There was a heavy Lannister presence in these areas and they were well armed with her father’s weapons. The Lannister men were using them to great effect against the Northmen and apparently whoever was in this helicopter too. But if they had shot it down, then the chances had just turned in her favor. Perhaps they were coming for her.

 

_ ‘Gods, what will happen?’ _ She bunched her night dress between her legs in an attempt to hug herself tighter. 

 

Sansa certainly didn’t sleep after that, and as the sun rose she wondered if anything would happen. She had half expected a regiment of soldiers to arrive at her door, beat it down and haul her away. But nothing happened. So she tentatively resumed her morning chores. Wrapping her hair in a peasant headdress, which involved wrapping an old shawl around into a turban like thing around her head. It was far from stylish but it covered her hair. That and the fact that she was dirty most of the time seemed to be enough to have folks not ask questions. She put on her dress, and began to bring buckets from the river so as to do the washing. 

 

Hours passed as she continually, almost distractedly, looked in the direction of where she thought the helicopter had been downed.  _ ‘Nothing. _ ’ Was the word of the day as she tried not to let her anxiousness get the better of her.

 

Hanging the laundry Sansa had almost lost hope that something was going to happen at all when she spotted something odd in the distance. She had to squint a bit and stop what she was doing so as to focus on it. It was a black dot, more a thing, heading in her direction. 

 

Going to the edge of her borrowed cottage, she looked a bit more carefully. It was a man, a large one from the looks of it, running right at her. There was no doubt the was running through that field because he had spotted her - and, as if on cue, there were several soldiers running behind him.

 

“Shit...shit!” She said to herself as panic started to rise within her. “Is he friend or foe?”

 

Just because he was running from the Lannister men didn’t mean he was there to help her. In this war there were many sides and factions, all of them would profit from having her in their grasp one way or another. And Sansa would be no man’s puppet. 

 

The soldiers were far too close to the large man in black to just wait until he got to her cottage and ask him what he was doing there. She would have to handle him somehow, until the heat was off. 

 

“I’ll trick him, then figure it out later.” She smiled and searched around the side of the house for the damn cricket bat the area kids sometimes lost in her yard. 

 

Her eyes lighting up, she grabbed the bat and a crate and moved them around the corner of the house. This served the purpose of hiding them from the man’s view. Then she opened the fruit cellar door. It was literally a hole in the ground covered by a small wooden door. The previous occupants of the cottage had stored fruits and meat for the winter, she was using it for a far more nefarious purpose -- to hide her things and now to hold a man -- possibly against his will. 

 

Taking one final look at her setup, Sansa nodded to herself, hoping her crazy scheme would work. She didn’t have the luxury of screwing this one up. Rounding her cottage again she went back to the lawn to see if she could spot the man. She could see him better now,  _ ‘Seven Hells he’s a big one.’  _ It was a hulking man running like mad toward her. 

 

She made sure to motion that he come to her and was pretty sure he had seen it. He’d left those soldiers in the dust, having increased the distance between them in the time she had prepared her little trap. Sansa was hopeful they had not seen her motion to him, but she’d see when the time came. Running around the corner of the house she stood on the crate and raised the bat to her shoulders. She was trying to judge his height, not wanting to decapitate him but at the same time understanding that hitting him too low probably wouldn't have the desired effect. She had to knock him out cold, or this wasn’t going to work.

 

Nervousness overtook her as the bat slipped a bit in her sweaty hands. Sansa took one test swing just to make sure she could do it at all, then settled back into her stance. His breathing was the first thing she could hear, followed by his footfalls. To swing too soon would be to alert him, to swing to late was to be caught. She closed her eyes so as to focus only on the sounds he was making, then she swung. 

 

“BAM!” The bat cracked across his head with a somewhat satisfying pop as he looked over at her. There was completel surprise in his eyes as she shoved him in the direction of the fruit cellar. His already off balance body fell inside the hole, just as she had hoped. He got another smack to his head as he hit the floor on the way down. His eyes closed. 

 

_ ‘Gods I hope he’s not dead.’ _ She thought briefly while shutting the door. Thinking fast she pulled some hay over it and walked her horses to the spot. 

 

She’d stolen them when she left King’s Landing and had not regretted that in the least. Horses were the best way to travel the back country, and they carried the great distinction of being her only friends. Stranger was a huge black courser, mean as hell and not afraid of anything. Lady was a light brown palfrey and the love of Stranger’s life. Nobody would dare approach him or his lady friend without fear of getting bitten, stomped or killed. Sansa lead her two horses over to the hay and stood them above the door, hoping she could hide it from the soldiers. 

 

_ ‘There doesn’t seem to be any blood.’ _ She looked around quickly then went to brushing Lady, hoping she could act as natural as possible.

 

The big man had won her some time for she was well into Lady’s coat when the men chasing him finally rounded the house. 

 

“You, woman, did you see a big man pass through here?” They were out of breath the three of them, their guns were not drawn. 

 

“Somebody ran that way my Lord.” She pointed to the woods, they were said to be haunted by the local folk -- Sansa hoped they ascribed to such beliefs. “But I was with the horses, and did not see who it was.”

 

The men eyed her a moment, unsure if they should believe her or not. “We’re going to take a look around.”

 

“Of course, my Lord.” Sansa knew what that meant. They would tear all her wash down, rip up the house and be off. It wouldn’t matter much today anyway, there was no way she was staying here another night, not after this. After him.

 

She continued to brush the horses while keeping a watchful eye on the small group of soldiers. The bastards were ripping up everything, clean laundry spilt in the mud, searching places the large man certainly could not be hiding. They gave some sense of security to this little village -- given most of the island was a warzone -- but it didn’t make her hate them any less. Sansa inhaled deeply as she realized one of the men had just stepped on some blood. 

 

_ ‘Seems I broke his nose.’  _ She thought gingerly as she hoped the small blood spatters in the dirt would not draw his attention. 

 

Not sure if he saw the blood or not, the man still near her made a move toward  Stranger. The fearsome beast nipped in his direction, sending the man backwards. 

 

“There there…” Sansa said, stroking the horse’s large neck. She had a way with animals, fearsome ones for sure. If you didn’t show the animal fear and were calm, they tended to fall in line. She knew she was safe next to Stranger and he knew he was to protect her. 

 

The soldiers left some minutes later, after turning her house upside down and taking a few things like food and water. They hadn’t found her pistol though, that was comforting. There weren't too many hiding places in the small structure, but she had managed to find a loose brick in the hearth that served. When the soldiers were long gone, she grabbed the pistol, stuck it in the small of her back and slowly opened the door to the fruit cellar -- half expecting the man inside to jump out and grab her.

 

The extremely large man she had knocked out hadn’t moved. His body was twisted somewhat, one cheek in the dirt, his chest facing the ground, his arms and legs chaotically strewn around his massive torso.  _ ‘Oh I really hope he’s not dead now.’  _

 

To be sure she dropped the cricket bat down there on his stomach to see if he would move,  _ ‘Nothing.’  _ The word of the day.

 

Convinced he wasn’t lying angrily in wait, Sansa made her way down the narrow stairs of the cellar and lit some of the oil lamps, shutting the door above her. She turned to the man who was so artfully laid out on her floor, like a huge rag doll, in the exact place where he had lost consciousness earlier. He had two semi automatic rifles on his person, along with a pistol strapped to his hip and who knew what else. 

 

_ ‘Now who are you?’  _ Sansa wondered to herself as she leaned in to take his pulse. She could only see half of his face, the other was turned to the floor. She touched her fingers to his scruffy neck and could feel a pulse. A slight relief swept over her. 

 

Pushing his shoulder length dark hair out of his face she examined it a moment. He wasn’t so bad looking, except for the fact that she’d broken his nose on impact. 

 

_ ‘I’ll have to reset that.’ _ She mused as she took a closer look at him. It was like having a dragon in her cellar, the man took up a huge portion of the floor. 

 

Using both of her hands, and as much leg strength as she had, she turned his torso over so he was laying on his back. Sansa gasped and jumped back at the sight that met her, the other half of his face was scared. Not just a bit of scarring, but marred almost beyond recognition. 

 

_ ‘You’re not winning any beauty contests, sweetheart.’ _ She joked to herself, gathering enough courage to drag an idol finger along his scars. 

 

They felt oddly soft under her touch, and bumpy too.  _ ‘Acid? Fire?’  _ She couldn’t be sure what it was, the wounds were old -- certainly not from the crash this morning. 

 

Sansa didn’t feel sorry for the man in front of her, in his line of work -- be it mercenary or special forces -- his disfigurement probably helped him rather than hurt him. It certainly made him look more fierce.

 

Moving to his flack jacket she unzipped it and removed it from his body-- but not without a struggle. His arms were lifeless and heavy, as was his head and neck. Sansa combed through its pockets, her fingers brushing against some stiff paper. Digging a bit deeper she extracted a folded up photo. It was her official photo taken just 2 and a half years before. 

 

_ ‘No notes, nothing. Not enough to know if he wants to save me or kill me.’  _ She would keep it for later.

 

She removed his layers of shirts until she made it to his final undershirt.  _ ‘You don’t lack for muscles.’ _ She smirked to herself, enjoying the feeling of his body under the tips of her fingers. He was a machine, built to kill. 

 

There was a beauty to him that she couldn’t quite put into words. Eyeing his dog tags she ripped them from his neck -- an identifying number and a name was there, though they meant very little.

 

_ ‘Special forces but …’ _ They were not normal tags, there was nothing on them that spoke of whose team he was on. No insignia of a house she could find, there was nothing.

 

She scanned him again, her ice blue eyes lingering on his broad hairy chest. _ ‘He’s probably dumb as bricks. He led them right to me didn’t he?’ _ She reminded herself, shifting her attention quickly to his boots.

 

Pulling off his shoes and his pants she grinned at the man’s curve hugging boxer briefs, “Red and black stripes?” She asked herself as she grinned. “Well at least you fill them well.” 

 

Her eye lingering on his half naked form, Sansa went through his pants’ pockets. There was not much to speak of. Ammo, a knife, some various energy snacks and condoms. Sansa snorted at that, it seemed like a completely normal collection of things -- making both love and war all in one set of pants.

 

Satisfied with what she found Sansa crouched near the mysterious fighter’s head. As much as she wanted to she could not divine his intentions, nor could she be sure of what he would do with her once he woke up. 

 

“You’re not going to be very happy with me when you wake up are you?” Sansa took his chin and made his head shake a ‘ _ No’ _ . 

 

She considered the rope and the huge pulley system in the cellar a moment. Such things were typically used to transport and store big slabs of meat in the winter time. “Am I going to have to tie you up for my own safety?”

 

Sansa made his lifeless head nod ‘ _ yes’ _ . “Ok. But I’m sorry. Really it’s nothing personal. You’ll forgive me right?”

 

Leaving the head to nod for itself, which it didn’t, she grabbed a rope from one of the shelves. ‘ _ At least I’m going to get my exercise today.’ _ She thought as she looked at the daunting task of tying up his enormously muscular body.

 

_ ‘The bigger they are....’ _ She grinned, and got to work.


	3. In the Talons of the Little Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Sandor strike an unlikely alliance that has them going deeper into Westeros than Sandor had hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everybody is doing well! It's a heatwave in Europe and we are all suffering without AC. So I'm slower than usual and trying to keep my head on straight. Though I did have a very good thought on the lemon for this story and it makes me very excited. I'll have to add dubious consent to the tags of this story :-)
> 
> Our duo meet in this chapter. How exciting! I hope you enjoy!

#  Chapter 3:  In the Talons of the Little Bird

##  Sandor

It wasn’t the first bucket of cold water that woke Sandor up. No, no that would have been far too easy. It was without a doubt the second one that brought him violently back to life. Clearly he must have reacted with some sort of noise or motion that confirmed this to his captors, for he could feel his world tilting -- felt gravity acting on his body as he was strung upside down by his feet. 

 

_ ‘You’re a fucking idiot Clegane. _ ’ Was all he could think of as the distance between his face and the floor became larger -- probably four feet or so.

 

The Hound was used to torture, he’d been trained to both give and receive it. This wouldn’t be the first time he had been captured by the enemy, shit half of the scars on his body were from various methods employed in getting one to talk. He had not been broken yet and, didn’t intend besmirching that record today. As such he was cool and calm, despite being suspended in the air. Sandor had to be, otherwise he’d never escape.

 

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the room, but from the smell alone he was sure he was in a cellar of some kind. The lack of windows, the dirt floor, the silhouette of shelves in the dark recesses of the room all pointed to that. Sandor slowly flexed his arms to see the state of his bonds. 

 

_ ‘Well that was fucking courteous.’ _ He remarked as he found his arms had been bound behind his back and tied to a rope around his waist, so they wouldn’t hang down painfully. 

 

Throwing a glance upward toward his feet they were bound together, a large hook spacing his ankles apart -- lifting him above the ground. What was most striking was that he was in his underwear and undershirt. Never in all his years as a soldier and a mercenary had he ever been questioned in his underwear -- there were just codes amongst men for that sort of thing. Only the really sick motherfuckers did stuff to your junk, so this situation felt more like something out of the movies.

 

_ ‘Unless…’ _ Suppressing a grin, he remembered the farm girl. The Hound waited patiently, curious as to what would happen next. She’d rung his bell for certain, but that just made him more curious about her.

 

After some moments she spoke, “Who are you?”  It was a flat question as her voice carried little emotion.

 

Almost barking out a laugh, the only thing Sandor could think of was,  _ ‘I’m going to talk her into releasing me. And when she does I’ll give her a black eye or two, so she learns.’  _

 

It was highly unlikely that she was a pro at torture and almost one hundred percent certain that she was more scared of him than he was of her.  _ ‘Yeah, I’ll push my advantage.’ _ He couldn't help  the burned side of his face curling into a satisfied half grin. 

 

She asked him again, this time with more force, “Who. Are. You?”

 

“Who the fuck are you?” He spat back twisting so as to better see her. She was standing to the right of him, a few dim oil lamps the only source of light in this shit hole. Sandor had been in worse though, so he wasn’t too alarmed -- for now.  

 

The first thing that struck Sandor about her was her amazing blue eyes. Even in the dark they sparkled like deep sapphires, gorgeous in their own right. She had tied up her hair in a turban and wrapped a piece of that cloth over her nose and mouth -- so only her eyes were visible. They would have jumped out anyway, but it made Sandor wonder why she didn’t want to be seen. 

 

_ ‘What are you hiding little bird?’ _ He thought while their eyes were locked together. She was almost certainly not a militant, she didn’t have the swager for that. She was nervous, that much was clear. It was something he could use against her.

 

Clearly frustrated by his little game she pulled out a gun, his pistol, and fumbled with it.

 

Sandor’s voice came out raspy and low with a touch of condescension. Without a doubt he wanted her to feel like she would fail at getting him to talk, have her figure out for herself that letting him go was the best option. “You know how to use that thing little bird? That’s one  _ big _ gun.”

 

Of course he let the double meaning of that phrase hang in the air, just to see if it would unsettle her. If he kept her on the back foot she’d be more likely to make a mistake, and play right into his jaws. Then she hit the trigger and a shot fired into the ground - not so far from his head, making his life flash before his eyes.

 

“Oh, whoops.” She said almost laughing, then cocked the hammer and turned it directly to him. More accurately she rested the hot barrel of the gun right on his cock -- it burned his most prized possession through his thin underwear still hot from the first shot. 

 

_ ‘You cocky little bitch.’ _ There was no doubt she had done it on purpose. He might not be dealing with a pro, but he was certainly dealing with a woman who know her way around a firearm.

 

“You have five seconds to identify yourself, dog tags and name, or I’ll blow your dick off -- and make sure you live.” Even if her voice was shaking slightly, her hand was completely steady. 

 

That told Sandor she would probably follow through on her threats. _ ‘Fuck.’  _ This was not what he had anticipated, not at all. ‘ _ But I can still charm her into letting me go _ .’ He’d been in stickier situations in the past. All he had to do was wait, she couldn’t stay in control forever because he wouldn’t let her. _ ‘Be patient Dog.’ _

 

She started counting and he changed his tactics faster than he intended, “SC534790. Clegane, S.” His cock was at stake for the love of the Seven and he wasn’t about to try his luck over information he knew she could get from his dog tags.

 

“Very good. What does the S stand for?” She’d caught some confidence now, which was not what he had wanted. But Sandor answered anyway, attempting to see if building a rapport with her would make more sense. He wanted to get out of this mess, cock still attached to his body.

 

“Sandor.” He breathed. “Now let me go. I mean you no harm.”

 

She snorted, not fooled by his plea, but removed the gun from between his legs. “You’re right, it is a _ big _ gun.” The young woman let the double meaning of her words hang into the air, and held his pistol in her hand -- testing its weight --  taunting him.

 

_ ‘Now you’re getting really interesting little one.’ _ Sandor smirked, wondering who she was and where she had come from. There were very few people at all who had the balls to fuck with him like this, so she was either very brave or very stupid.

 

“And who are you?” He asked again, trying to see if she’d return the favor. 

 

Instead she kicked him in the side, her dress had been discarded in favor of some tight fitting  black pants. She connected as hard as she could, but that didn’t do much. He laughed outright, knowing his face would make it seem more devious than it was. 

 

“That tickled little bird. And here I thought you were going to torture me.” If she could taunt him, then he could do the same. He didn’t want her to get used to him being a weak position. Even hanging upside down in her creepy cellar, Sandor was far from helpless. He just needed to time his escape right.

 

His response only served to anger the young woman further, as she grabbed one of his rifles and hit him with the butt of it in the stomach. That did knock the wind out of him.

 

“I’ll be asking the questions around here.” She yelled, observing his face more closely.

 

A growl came from Sandor’s throat but nothing more.

 

“Who do you work for?” The peasant girl demanded, her blue eyes staring into his steel greys.

 

Sandor merely glared at her but kept his mouth shut. If she wanted something out of him, she’d have to work for it now. 

 

“Okay.” She said, walking back into the darkness and emerging with something in her hand. Sandor couldn’t tell what it was from his orientation.Though he didn’t have to ponder this long, for she crouched down and turned the photo so he could see it.

 

“This your girlfriend?” She asked, her eyes not leaving his. “She’s awful pretty for a guy like you.” 

 

Sander spat off to the side and deepened his glare.  _ ‘As if I hadn’t heard that one before.’ _

 

Her little tatic wouldn’t work. Sandor had long come to terms with his appearance, it gave him more a reason to start a fight than to actually get angry. But she didn’t have to know that. The little wench had pilfered the photo of the princess from his flack jacket, his whole reason for being here. Which meant she’d probably been through everything else he had on his person.

 

A long and uncomfortable silence passed between them before Sandor made up his mind to answer. “Let me down and I’ll tell you. Keep my hands tied if you like.”

 

“Tell me who you work for, then I’ll cut you down.” Her voice hinted at her preparedness to make a deal with him. She was eager to move forward.

 

He made a bit of a show, his face contorting as if he didn’t want to answer,  then Sandor answered, “Essos Special Forces.”

 

This just seemed to make her angry as the visible part of her face flushed and she knelt so as to be closer to his face. Grabbing his jaw as violently as her little hand could, she turned his face so Sandor would look at her. What was probably the most surprising for Sandor was that she could look him in the eye and not turn away -- it wasn’t every woman’s response to him, not by far.

 

“You’re lying to me.” She said, her stone cold eyes cut through him. “Essos doesn’t accept Westerosi in their special forces.”

 

_ ‘Smart girl. _ ’ He thought.

 

Before he could protest she took the rifle butt and hit him in the gut again, eliciting a gasp from his lips. If anything he was getting fucking annoyed hanging upside down so what was the point of playing this game with her, _ ‘Other than to rile her up? Probably nothing.’ _

 

So he said it, “I’m a mercenary, hired from Essos to find that girl.”

 

With that she unceremoniously cut the rope suspending him loose, and Sandor fell to the floor with a large thud like and extremely heavy sack of potatoes. Her eyes didn’t move from him though. She had thrown the rifle to the side but still had his pistol on her.  _ ‘Mistake number one. Cutting me loose. _ ’ He kept a straight face despite the giddiness that was slowly overtaking him.

 

She shook her head, “Well you’re not a very good one. With soldiers chasing you through my yard, your helicopter alerting half the province to your presence. I’m surprised only three of them were chasing you.”

 

Sitting up, though still bound with his arms behind his back and his ankles together he interjected. “I killed the other ones.” He let that sink in a moment. “Aside from that we were compromised. Fucked from the beginning.”

 

“We?” She asked, surprised by his words.

 

“All dead too, so no point in talkin’ about’em.” Her eyes were so focused on Sandor’s that he knew she hadn’t noticed him working his wrists loose. It was dark in the room for one, and for another he was good at that shit.  _ ‘Just keep talkin’ sweetheart.’ _

 

Her eyes fluttered to the floor a moment, “So the girl is safe. You and your band of hired guns have been thwarted.”

 

Sandor eyed her a moment, doing his best to discern her intentions. _ ‘She knows something, but what?’  _ He’d have to approach the subject carefully if he wanted an honest answer -- or beat it out of her later. He grinned to himself wondering which one it would be. 

 

“You know her?” He said it kind of jokingly, but the farm girl had changed her deminear. So he continued in a more serious tone. “I don’t get paid if she’s dead.’

 

At those words she clutched the photo to her breast and turned from him a moment.  _ ‘Mistake number two.’  _

 

This was his moment. Sandor wriggled his hands free, quickly pulling off the bonds around his ankles and leapt upon her. The girl screamed and started reaching for his gun on her hip. Of course he was faster, clamping his legs tight at her hips and grabbing at her arms.

 

“You’re a feisty one.” He taunted, a devilish smile on his devil’s face, as he grappled with her arms -- only ever able to capture one before the other slipped out of his grasp.

 

She had gone to pushing his face away with her hand, trying to scratch at his eyes. But there was never a doubt he would overpower her. Her squirming little body soft and warm beneath his -- he couldn’t deny it felt nice. After some hectic moments Sandor managed to control both her wrists and rip the turban from her head. The sight that met him was far from what he expected.

 

“Well fuck me sideways. You do know her.” He snorted a laugh as they both breathed heavily from their little struggle. Staring into one another’s eyes with heightened emotions. The line between sex and violence thin. 

 

There was an angry look on her face, her eyes narrowed, her cheeks red from exertion. Sandor had to correct his assumption from earlier, she had indeed kept her beauty. Perhaps she just hadn’t been pissed off enough in her photo to do her justice. Shit she was better looking now than in that picture. Wiser looking, perhaps more mature. Needing to tear his eyes from her, so as not to give into his baser thoughts, Sandor noticed the bloody cricket bat on the floor.

 

“You knocked me out with that?” He was surprised actually, even a bit impressed. “Who taught you to swing it princess?”

 

Anger was still written all over face as she squirmed beneath him. “You ran right into it like a fucking idiot.” She spat at him. “Just like you lead them straight to me. Making everybody’s work a little easier.”

 

Now she was getting on his nerves, and Sandor had had such high hopes that they would get along -- they had been sarcastic hopes, but hopes nonetheless.

 

Bringing himself nose to nose with her Sandor spoke, “It doesn’t matter much princess. We’re going to Essos anyway.” 

 

“I’m not going there.” She said through gritted teeth. 

 

Smirking down at her, his hair falling over his face and brushing against her cheeks, Sandor couldn’t help but find something comical in her struggle. “You aren't exactly in the position to make demands.”

 

At those words she smiled and it unsettled him a bit. It had nothing to do with the fact that she was doing it while a huge hunking beast of a man was holding her against her will and everything to do with the way she did it. As if she knew something he didn’t and that this one piece of information was going to change the balance of power. Sandor listened intently.

 

“Whatever your patron is paying you, I can give you something that will double it.” She lifted her eyebrow as if to challenge him to question her. He did.

 

“I’m listening.” They were deadlocked, him with her pinned to the floor, her with a mysterious offer.

 

She whispered ever so slightly so he would lean in, “Let me go and I’ll tell you.”

 

Sandor had to chuckle, she was employing the same tactics he had to get her way. But as it was clear they were both on the same team now, he felt a bit better at letting her up. Though he would still keep an eye on her. Coming off of her slowly, he didn’t forget to relieve her of his pistol on her hip. 

 

At this she snorted, “And just when I was getting used to its size.”

 

_ ‘Did she just flirt with me.’  _ He wondered as she sat up and began to dust herself off.  _ ‘Surly she thinks she’ll gain some favor from me if she leads me on. Female tactics.’  _ Sandor wasn’t one to get drawn into such things -- even if the lower half of his body was ready to mutiny. Professional was the best route and he intended to keep their relationship that way.

 

Sitting on her knees across from him she pushed her hair off of her shoulder and checked her lip. He’d split it accidently as they had scuffled, but she didn’t seem to hold it against him.”We need to go back to King’s Landing, I forgot it there.”

 

At this he let out a hearty laugh, “Don’t think so, that is a suicide mission. And for what? A Dornish purse we can sell on the black market?” Now he was just being condescending for the sake of it. If she thought he was going anywhere close to the capital she was nuts.

 

She shook her head and forced a smile, “And here I thought you weren't just a pretty face Clegane. But now I’m not so sure. If you think I’m worth anything on my own, then somebody told you a big fat lie.”

 

At this remark he crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. Backhanded compliments would get her nowhere with him, might even get her a second bloody lip if she pushed it. Though he couldn’t help but be reminded of what Varys had said in their briefing -- take everything she had on her too. This thought sent his mind off on a tangent, but she needed to get to the point quickly, or he was going to tape her mouth shut and cart her off to Essos.

 

Noticing that his patience was wearing thin, she continued. “Do you know about Wildfire?”

 

Of course he knew about the shit, and it was nasty, really nasty. It was the reason Bronn had gotten his name, and amazing that he had even survived. Sandor would never get close to that shit, it was deadly, aggressive and -- it burned. Sandor merely nodded, trying not to show how uneasy this turn in the conversation made him.

 

“Good. Because before the war started my father had a whole missile site full of the stuff. Enough to destroy a good amount of Westeros with the press of the button. And I have the codes. Well….had the codes.” 

 

“Define had.” He said still trying to judge the truth of her statements. 

 

They had both stood up by this point, the oil lamps were running low dimming in this room already so devoid of light. “They were in my possession before the rebellion, but I hid them so nobody could find them. Your patron must have known this.”

 

Sandor had heard of this weapon before, knew something of that calibre existed in the world, but didn’t know it had been a possession of the Westerosi state. She was going to have to give him a little more than that to convince him. 

 

“And you just forgot them? Fled without the most important weapons in your arsenal?” Sandor wasn’t sure, not at all -- but that didn’t mean he couldn't go along with this little charade. 

 

She got a little haughty at his assertions, “I didn’t know this book contained the codes. I thought it was a children’s book. It was only later that I understood what was contained therein it’s almost certainly why your patron wants me. But knowledge is power Clegane, you could always use this as a way to get more money.”

 

It sounded too good to be true, though he did just stumble across the Princess of Westeros in a fruit cellar -- so technically anything was possible. Seeing that he wasn’t budging she implored him, “Look we don’t have much time. They’ll be back for you and I don’t want to be caught up in that shit storm. Are you in?”

 

Shifting his weight Sandor cocked his head to the side, “So what’s your cut then?”

 

Sansa approached him, her eyes pleading and serious, “My life for one. I’m under no illusions that the nobles of Essos want me alive, bringing this to them  just gives me a way to negotiate my freedom. And for you to get richer. That’s what you mercenaries want after all, money right?”

 

There was no way he could confirm her words, he’d need way more time for that. Sure she could be leading him on a wild goose chase, but to what end? In the worst case scenario, there’s nothing and he gets two million dragons. In the best case they find the codes, live, and he negotiates a new sum with Varys -- perhaps even take the girl for himself.  _ ‘It looks like a win/win for me.’  _

 

He observed her in the dim light. Gods he wanted to believe her, a big part of him wanted to believe her -- but that inner voice in his head kept telling him something wasn’t right.

 

“I need a man like you Clegane. I can’t get to this place on my own. So what do you say?” She was using those blue eyes to great effect as she looked up at him.

 

_ ‘Why the fuck not? If it starts to stink, I’ll radio Varys and pull the plug. She’s nothing to me -- just a pretty face.’  _ That was his decision, and Sandor would stick by it.

 

“Sounds like we have an agreement.” He made it sound like her little seductive game had done the trick, allowing his voice to sound conflicted and slightly lustful. She was a beautiful woman, so it wasn’t a hard act to play -- but he prayed it didn’t backfire on him.

 

The princess smiled big. “Excellent. I’ll tell you more when we are at the cabin.” She pointed to a heap on the floor, “Your clothes are there.”

 

Sandor nodded but didn’t move. He watched her go up the cellar stairs and open the door. It was already night outside, the moon so bright it was almost blinding. “Do you ride horses?” She asked suddenly.

 

Shaking his head Sandor was reminded of his many years in the Dothraki wars. He could ride alright, but he didn't fucking like it. Not after those experiences. “I fucking hate horses.” He offered.

 

Halfway up the stars she turned to him, “Good. Because I have a stallion who fucking hates men. You’ll be perfect for one another. Now don’t pfaff around.”

 

Sandor was almost relieved she had left him a moment of peace. He’d need some time to get his head on straight and start to figure out what the fuck was going on. There weren’t so many women he had met who had knocked him out with a cricket bat, tied him up and threatened to blow his cock off. This little princess was growing on him despite his best efforts, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he was still somehow in the talons of this little bird.


	4. Into the Lion's Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Sandor hash out their plan.

#  Chapter 4: Into the Lion’s Den

##  Sansa

 

There was something about this mercenary that made Sansa more curious than usual. It was not the kind of curiosity that she was used to having, the typical ‘Who are you?’ and ‘Where do you come from?’ types of questions you ask in polite conversation. It was not the kind of curiosity that children have when they are exploring something new, their eyes wide in anticipation of what would happen next. There was something altogether different about this Sandor Clegane -- a cool confidence that both put her at ease and chilled her to the bone. The deliberate and methodical pace with which he had prepared himself for their journey keyed her into his experience on the road -- he was used to living in the rough, and with nothing. The horrificness of his facial scarring called to her in the light of the full moon as they moved their horses through a tiny winding path. They looked so much worse in the pale light, the shadows cast on them only served to make them wider and deeper -- more painful looking.  He drew his long hair so as to cover his face as best he could, though Sansa wondered if he did it more out of habit than caring. 

 

He didn’t look at her like most men did, this was perhaps what was most unnerving. Sansa was used to being the center of masculine attention, gawked at, fawned over -- a guy magnet as most of her friends had teased her. Sansa was the ‘it’ girl during the height of her father’s reign. Always in fashion, always out in the city with her troupe of close friends -- casually entertaining boys as they went out on Friday nights. Perhaps that was just it, the man with which she rode was not a boy -- not in looks, mind and certainly physique. He was a man who had sworn himself to the Warrior, given himself to hard life of war, death and destruction. The feeling that her usual womanly charms would not work on him set in fast, the moment he had attacked her in the fruit cellar. She’d never forget the look in his eyes as he had easily controlled her small body, the look of a man who would harm her -- teach her a lesson and feel no remorse. Sandor was dangerous and it was this that made him interesting.

 

Stranger snorted and dug his hooves into the dark earth making Sansa turn her head. Both rider and horse were engaged in a battle for dominance, Sandor wanting him to jump over a fallen log and Stranger wanting to go around it. There was some grunting on both ends, equally animalistic, until the mercenary finally prevailed. She was observing him more than she should, so when his slate colored eyes met hers the young princess felt compelled to say something. They had been traveling for hours without a word -- it only seemed appropriate that something should come out of her mouth.

 

“He’s not used to a rider of your size. But you’re handling him well.” Sansa sat up straight in the saddle, able to feel even from there the frustration that he had with the black courser. 

 

At this her travel companion snorted, “He’s used to being spoiled by a princess. He needs discipline.”

 

Lifting an eyebrow Sansa couldn’t very well argue with him. She was good to Stranger, giving him apples and as much time with his filly as he wanted. He had been a warhorse and still had many of the characteristics that made him good at his craft -- but she had spoiled him in their short time on the run. Sansa wondered if Sandor Clegane was in some ways the opposite of that. He was no knight in shining armor, you didn’t have to stare long at the hulking monster of a man atop Stranger, or even get to know him to understand that, but he was  _ her _ knight -- her only real hope of recovering what she had left behind.

 

_ ‘He’ll do.’  _ Sansa said to herself.  _ ‘He’ll have to do.’ _

 

It would not be easy to get into the capital, and even more difficult to retrieve this book. Sansa would need to find a common ground with Sandor in order to achieve her goals.  _ ‘I don’t have to marry the guy, I just have to give him another reason than money to be loyal to me. Perhaps friendship…’ _ Her thoughts were trailing off as a crack of thunder sounded and the rain came pouring down.

 

There was no need to look over her shoulder to know Sandor was totally pissed at the whole situation. He rode up right beside her and told her himself, “Where the fuck are we goin’ girl? We’ll catch our death in a cold downpour like this.”

 

He was certainly right, the rainforest of this cold northern town was notorious for helping one ‘catch their death’ so to say. The rain was relentless and had soaked them in a matter of seconds. But there was something redeeming about it as well. Sansa was of the North, and this rain suited her just fine. She felt, no matter how silly it might sound, that the rain was purifying her. Washing away the things she had done, both to Sandor and others, the guilt and the pain she felt. The ice coldness of the rain preparing her for what she must do, letting her knew that the road ahead would be neither easy nor comfortable. Smirking she turned to her angry companion, “It’s just over that ridge. At the edge of the forest there we can break into a gallop.”

 

If there was one thing she knew, it was that he hated riding horses. She’d heard him cursing to himself and Stranger for the duration of their trip -- so to suggest he gallop the mighty beast was more of a challenge than an offer of advice. A feral growl came from Sandor’s lips as he turned the horse and made for the forest’s edge. 

 

_ ‘Seems he hates rain more than horses.’ _ She mused as she followed him.

 

Passing Clegane up easily she broke her filly into a full-on gallop for the hunting cabin they would stay the night. Certainly within reach. The sound of Stranger protesting Sandor’s wishes made her smile, but she didn’t look back as she rode through the pouring rain -- her face feeling the sting of the drops, cold as ice.

 

The cabin was somewhat hidden in the treeline, but she knew where it was and stopped her horse in front of the structure -- waiting for Sandor to approach. Clearly not at all having the best of days, Sandor’s eyes glared with frustration as he followed her dismount and guided the snarling courser to the small barn in the back. You could only reach the cabin by horseback, so it would be safe for tonight. They would be able to discuss their plans, eat canned food and get a  good rest in.

 

After tying up the animals and pushing some old hay for them to eat, she lead him to the front door of the small cabin. Sansa reached out for the doorknob, but her hand was pushed away as Sandor drew his weapon.  _ ‘Clearly he trusts nobody and nothing.’ _

 

She pursed her lips together and crossed her arms at her chest -- but allowed him to open the door combat style, and sweep the three rooms of the cabin to his satisfaction. Entering every one of the small rooms, opening all of the closets and checking the corners. 

 

“How do you know this place?” He asked, finally holstering his weapon. 

 

“I spent some time here with some hunters.” At that he raised an eyebrow, as if to signal that he time spent there had been anything but chaste. She put her hands on her hips, “I washed clothes, they taught me about weapons. It was a fair trade and they were nice.” She stared him straight in the face but knew he wasn’t convinced, “It seems to have come in handy.”

 

Her hint that she had bested him with a pistol didn’t go over too well, his facial expression quickly turned to a sneer. Silence passed between them a moment as they assessed one another, anew. Finally she spoke up, “If you start a fire, I’ll find us something dry to wear.”

 

Nodding at this Sandor began to acquaint himself with the cabin layout, finding the wood, kindling and some matches. Soaking wet to her underwear Sansa went into the other room to hunt them down something warm to wear. There wasn’t much, it seemed the cabin had not been used in a while, and most of the things had been taken home to be washed for the season. _ ‘A long sleeved flannel shirt and a pair of cotton sleeping pants in tartan.’ _

 

She lifted up the offending pieces of clothing and wrinkled her nose. Clegane certainly couldn’t fit into the shirt, it wasn’t made for a man with the size of chest he had. The pants might make it, thought they’d be a bit tighter than the ones he had come to her with. Shrugging at the situation, Sansa peeled off her wet clothing, put her gun on the nightstand, then put on the flannel buttening it up as high as it made sense. She knew her chances of seducing him were not good, gods he’d probably had offers from much more exoitc, beautiful women in Essos -- women who were more dangerous, experienced and worldly than Sansa. 

 

_ ‘Yeah, I’ll just be my boring self.’ _ She decided, squeezing out her wet hair then rolling up her sleeves. The shirt covered her bum until the mid thigh, which should be enough to keep her modesty well hidden. She took her clothing out by the fire to dry, her bra included, hoping it wouldn’t cause too much of a fuss.

 

The fire was already roaring, and Sandor had taken the liberty of removing this many layers of shirts, when she stepped out of the tiny bedroom. _ ‘He hasn’t given himself to the Warrior, he is the Warrior.’  _

 

To say she wasn’t awestruck by his body would have been to lie through her teeth, and her mother had always told her lying was very unladylike. There was no other way to describe his build other than powerful and masculine. Every muscle in his back had definition, the ridges of them accentuated by the dim light of the fire -- along with the scars that had not just marred his face but also littered his gigantic form. One of his arms were as large as her legs and then some, a tattoo of three running dogs adorned his left bicep. He was standing in profile to her, arranging his clothes so as to have them dry, not paying attention to her as he worked -- but she couldn’t be sure he still wasn’t watching her. Sansa couldn’t help herself though, his chest and stomach were far beyond what she had ever seen in the flesh -- young lordlings not caring to carry the bulk the mercenary was required to. And if they did work out, it was for show. The beast before her used his body, relied on it to earn his coin -- he didn’t do it to look good or appeal to women, the feeling she felt in her loins was merely a side effect. 

 

Realizing she was gaping at him, Sansa moved toward him the tartan sleeping pants outstretched in her hand. Sandor studied her a moment, his face expressionless his mind assessing, calculating, weighing something she could not fathom. After a few moments his eyes moved to the piece of fabric she had in her hand. His nose wrinkled up at it but he took it all the same. Quickly putting her clothing near the fire to dry, Sansa then went to the small kitchen -- still in the same room -- and began to look for some canned goods for them to eat. 

 

Sandor had no shame of course, she hadn’t really expected that -- but Sansa found herself blushing in the darkness all the same.  He had pulled his soaked through trousers and underwear down to his ankles only then fumbling around with the sleeping pants. Just the thought he was naked would have been enough to make her snowy white cheeks turn a slight shade of scarlett. But the sight of him standing there, the low light the fire in the cabin was giving off notwithstanding, in all of his masculine glory trying to turn the pants in the right direction was quite something. She quickly turned her head, opening a cupboard with a loud screech so as to remind him she was still there. 

 

The sounds coming from where he was, were clearly those of frustration. She could hear him wrestling with the fabric before finally pulling it over his body. Fairly certain he was covered, Sansa turned around with some opened cans of spam, a large bag of chips and some beers she had found in the fridge.  A meager feast, but a much appreciated one nonetheless. Sandor’s back was to her as she did so, there she saw something that really caught her eye. A deep cut to the mid to lower part of his back was gruesome - jagged and poorly healed. 

 

Sansa couldn’t help but blurt out her question, “What’s that?”

 

Sandor didn’t turn to her, just continued what he was doing. “A back.”

 

“No.” She said approaching him, still holding the bit of food she had scared up. He looked at her now, his eyes not cold but not necessarily friendly either. Her eyes pointed toward his back, “I meant that.”

 

He looked over his left shoulder as if he had no idea what she was talking about, then cracked a grin. “I got that in the Dothraki Sea.”

 

“Oh.” She said, sitting down next to him and handing him the can of spam. 

 

Sansa’s disappointment at the short reply must have more detectable in her voice than she had intended, for the mercenary quickly wolfed down his food and stared at her thoughtfully. “The Dothraki have a habit of coming into camps at night, cutting out your kidneys and eating them in front of you while you die.”

 

She’d stopped eating and was just staring at him in total shock and surprise. Sandor grinned at her, satisfied he had completely thrown her off her guard, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That bastard didn’t have a chance, but he came close I’ll give him that.”

 

Not knowing what else one could possibly add to this line of conversation, Sansa went back to eating her less than delicious canned meat -- keeping her eyes averted so as not to stare upon his muscled chest.

 

“And what about you?” His voice came through the dimness of the room, the sound of a chip bag opening as he spoke. “I’d say most highborn women don’t integrate into the population well. What makes you so different?”

 

There was no way to know if he was complimenting her or just filling the silence.  _ ‘But he did just call me woman.’ _ That was certainly something worthwhile.

 

“I had to survive.” She said bluntly, not really ever having the experience of putting words to these actions -- they seemed like a lifetime ago. “I had help fleeing King’s Landing but then was on my own in the forest for….well for how long only the gods know. But I was under nourished, over exposed to the elements, half out of my mind when I stumbled across some washer women.” 

 

She paused, looking over at her companion to make sure he was listening. His eyes were trained on her, listening to her words with an impassive expression on his face. “They took me in and the rest evolved from there.” 

 

Sansa wanted to remain as aloof as possible, make her journey seem more dangerous than it was. Though it was clear she lacked his experience and strength, it was imperative she not lose any psychological advantage over him. If this was going to work, she needed them to at least respect each other enough to venture into the belly of the beast. Seizing the opportunity she reached over to a small bag she had brought with her and opened it up. There wasn’t much in there, but all that they needed for their mission. Spreading out a map of King’s Landing and the surrounding area, she set to work explaining her vision.

 

“The book with the codes is here.” She pointed to the archives in the center of the city. It was a safe place, it held many texts both classified and for the people. It would be guarded, heavily. While she had not been able to hide this texts in its innermost depths, Sansa didn’t feel the need to tell her companion this.

 

The man next to her studied the map a moment. “Since the Lannisters seized power they are checking everybody who goes in and out of the city. We’re going into the lion’s den. I can’t imagine they wouldn’t still be looking for you.”

 

She nodded, smiling. “I’ll go in, the same way I came out.” She pointed to a part on the map and he laughed.

 

“A brothel?” He looked her over a moment then continued. “You want us to go to a brothel at the edge of the city? Not that I’m complaining.”

 

“I know the man who runs this brothel. He was a friend of my mother’s and he helped me escape.” Sansa felt a pang of sadness at mentioning her mother. She had not spoken of her since the day her family was murdered. “He’ll get us into the city and with a little luck, we can make it into the archives.”

 

Sandor had a thoughtful look on his face as he was thinking through the scenarios. Sansa waited patiently for him, hoping her anxiety didn’t show through. This was the closest she would ever get to her goal, and she needed his help more than he knew.

 

After some time he spoke. “And you’re telling me you fled the city without the most important military codes on the planet? These missiles you speak of are exceedingly rare.”

 

A flush crept into her cheeks. “I didn’t know what they were at the time. I was merely given a book of old poetry on my Nameday -- The Bear and the Maiden Fair. My father instructed me to keep it safe, but he never once told me… I only found out much later through his diary what the book really was...” She trailed off after that, her voice wavering at the overwhelming thought of her dead family. It was true that she had only found out much later, when she had found the courage to read her father’s diaries, which she had stolen with her, that she understood the relevance of the book -- and his orders.

 

Waiting an appropriate amount of time so she could catch herself, the mercenary continued. “And what makes you think I won’t just kill you and take the codes for myself?”

 

At these words Sansa looked toward him, her eyes set on his, unwavering. “Because I’m the only person alive who can interpret the language they are written in. The book is in Norse, a language of the Northern nobility. I’m the only one left.” 

 

There was a coldness in her voice that surprised her, but it seemed to get the point across. Sandor nodded his understanding. “It won’t be easy you know. The archive is secure. I’ve only ever broken in there successfully once.”

 

At this side comment Sansa couldn’t help but grin. There had only been one successful break in that she had ever heard of, this was many years ago now. State secrets were stolen, many of the elite guard killed.  _ ‘Who is this man in front of me?’  _ She wondered, more with reverence than fear. 

 

“And you want nothing for this? No money at all?” It was surprising to Sansa that this was the only part he was skeptical about. The rest of the plan seemed pretty ridiculous to her as it was.

 

“I want you to bargain with your benefactor for my life. And I want to see the Lannisters burn. Those things are all that I value.” Sansa watched him as he tested her motivations in his own mind. He was a brooding one, of that there was no doubt.

 

“We should get some sleep.” She said at once, not wanting her thoughts to run away with her. 

 

He agreed, but as she got up to walk into the bedroom he followed her - a rope in his hands. “And just want to you think…”

 

Before she could finish her sentence he cut her off, “If you think for one second I’m dumb enough to let you sneak out and leave me in this shithole, you’ve got another thing comin’. Now feet or wrists?”

 

Blinking a few moments as if she didn’t believe him Sansa couldn’t compute what he wanted from her. Seeing this he repeated, “Feet or wrists?”

 

“Feet.” She said weakly as he motioned her to the dusty bed in the room. Even though it was dark in the room there was still some light from the fire shining in. She wondered what he could see under her long flannel shirt as he lifted her legs to tie them together. 

 

“Watch and learn. This is how you do it so people don’t escape.” There was a cheeky tone to his voice as he went to work, tieing her ankles to one another and checking to make sure the ropes were not overly tight -- but secure all the same. Satisfied with his work he lifted her feet so she could lay down in bed and then laid down next to her. Sandor left a length of rope between them but tied the end to this waist. 

 

“And what if I have to go to the loo.” She said obstantly, knowing good and well the only loo in this place was a hole outside.

 

“Then wake me.” Was all he said as the mattress sagged under his weight and he folded his hands behind his head. 

 

Narrowing her eyes, Sansa fought the anger that threatened to boil over.  _ ‘How dare he tie me up. And how dare he have the audacity to share a bed with me.’  _ But it mattered little now. They were tied together both literally and figuratively as they planned to infiltrate the belly of the beast. She would just have to get used to it.


	5. A Scuffle in the Inn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor and Sansa decide to take a rest on their way to King's Landing and end up with more of a fight than they would have wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely updating things. This is more of a character building chapter, the next will be some Baelish creep. I don't know if we are whooting to that or not ;-) Though the lemon planned for this story is a rather interesting one (IMHO) -- I'm going to have to think up a poem for it...which I hate. But anyway enjoy!

#  Chapter 5:  A Scuffle in the Inn

##  Sandor

 

The plan the little princess had proposed to him was far from air tight, in fact it was probably the most ridiculous thing he had ever hear of. Sandor did, however, want to see how it played out.

 

_ ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’  _ He asked himself as they made their way on the back roads to King’s Landing.  _ ‘I get only the money owed to me for her and I still come out on top.’ _

 

There was no other reason she would want to go back to capital, the place where her parents and siblings had been brutally murdered, unless there was something well worth it. Furthermore Sandor did know the weapons she spoke of existed -- so he would play her little game  _ for now _ . In addition to that she was easy on the eyes, no doubt there. Worst case he would just radio Varys if he felt it wasn’t going anywhere, they would get picked up and Sandor would get his money -- done and dusted. 

 

Sandor eyed his horse as they continued on the backroads. Though he was loath to admit it, he’d grown fond of the stallion over the last two days. He was a smart horse and was mean as the seven hells when he wanted to be. Sansa had done well to take the horses when she left her home -- ‘ _ Shit, she’d done well to survive at all.’ _ Sandor mused. 

 

The redhead who rode in front of him had spirit, he couldn’t deny that. She was feisty, intelligent and counted amongst the few women who had ever knocked him out, much less restrained him in a relatively successful manner. Not counting when he had paid for that kind of treatment of course. To say he didn’t somehow deeply hope she would offer him more than a glare and crossed arms as he tied the two of them together to sleep, would have been a complete lie. 

 

_ ‘But she’s not for you dog.’ _ He would tell himself, ‘ _ Better to stay professional and have that be the end of it.’ _

 

Different scenarios did play in his head though, particularly regarding the negotiation over these codes if they ever did get them. Sure they were worth a lot of money, far more than he could ever imagine -- and also worth her life. Perhaps he could haggle Varys into giving the princess to him with an increased payout. Eunuchs were not known for their morality in Essos, so it could seem like just a standard bargain in their world. Then he could make sure she made it somewhere safe, assume another name and live somewhere on an island. Shit if he were really going to profit from this venture that much, that was the least he could do for her.

 

“How about we rest there?” Sansa looked behind her at Sandor while pointing to a small Inn just up the road.

 

Eyeing it a moment Sandor didn’t think it would be an issue. It was isolated, on a dark backroad without anything nearby. There were also  no signs of soldiers, and it seemed empty enough that they could slip in, eat, sleep and leave the next day. They weren’t far from their goal now so both vigilance and rest were paramount.

 

He merely nodded, bringing Stranger up beside her. The closer they got to King’s Landing the more nervous she had become, Sandor hoped she wouldn’t do something stupid to expose them both. 

 

Sandor put a hand on her shoulder, “You ok?”

 

“Yeah.” She said, seemingly ashamed that he would have to ask her such a thing. “It’s just...well we’re close now.” She stammered.

 

“All the more reason to keep it together.” He looked at her sternly and that seemed to shake her from her nerves. 

 

They tied their horses up on some trees surrounding the Inn, Sandor securing his weapons so they would not be easily seen. Night was falling but one could never be too careful. Throwing a glance over to the princess, Sandor was pleased to see she pulled the hood of her head so as to hide her hair as much as possible. Chances were low that they would encounter anybody who would be looking for her, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared for anything.

 

They approached the door, Sandor always making sure she was in front of him. Though he felt they had bonded quite a bit in the last days, the willingness entering into that bond notwithstanding, that didn’t mean he trusted her not to run if given the chance. There was little doubt in his mind that she could just be using him for muscle, a scary face and an itchy trigger finger to get her through the most difficult parts of her mission. Tthen leave him with nothing when they were close enough to their goal. So he was sure to keep an eye on her. Aside from that, she was less imposing then he was, making her better for entering unknown situations first. Sandor knew his size and look was intimidating in the best of times, so better to give a more neutral impression -- going on the assumption that if a young woman was his travel companion, how bad could Sandor possibly be?

 

Smirking to himself on that thought, Sandor watched Sansa push open the door to the inn, cross the threshold and then stopped dead in her tracks. It was warm in the main room, the smells of cooking meat and potatoes entered Sandor’s nostrils and there was laughing -- lots of laughing. More laughing that one would suspect given how quiet the inn looked from the outside. She had tried to turn around and walk back out but Sandor immediately grabbed her upper bicep to prevent her from making a false move. There were soldiers here, drunken, laughing, card playing soldiers -- either on leave or finding a bit of reprieve from the civil war that raged in Westeros. To turn around and walk back out again might rouse suspicion, there was no need to draw more attention to themselves than they already had, being an odd sort of travel pair to begin with. Sandor felt her body tense in his grasp, a sort of nervous energy he knew all too well running through it. He paid it no mind though, thrusting her toward an empty table in the back of the room not immediately close to their foe.

 

They sat down at a table, Sandor’s back to the wall so he could see the room and Sansa’s toward the soldiers. She was nervous, more than nervous, anxious even. Ordering two ales and two evening specials, Sandor reached across the table and captured one of her hands in his.

 

“Easy now, they don’t even know we’re here.” He whispered, trying to comfort her knowing that she could easily blow their cover if she didn’t get her anxiety under control.

 

She merely nodded and stared own at the table. Not knowing what to do but somehow blindly trusting him.

 

Sandor took this lull in conversation to take in the room, study it for escape routes should they need to flee quickly. ‘ _ Well we chose a fucking deathtrap.’ _ He mused to himself realizing that they were far from the door, there were only some small windows -- none of which he could fit his monstrous torso through. 

 

Of the three large tables, two and a half were crawling with Lannister allied men -- which numbered twelve in total. The worst part was that Sansa was the only woman, other than the serving wench in the room. You didn’t have to have as much experience as Sandor had as a soldier to know that civilian women and male soldiers didn’t mix well -- leading to more trouble than it was worth. It didn’t seem like they had noticed them, most of the men drinking and laughing -- telling some awful jokes -- and carrying on. Sandor wasn’t given to praying but he hoped they would be too drunk to notice the young woman at the back of the inn and too stupid to care.

 

“Eat.” Sandor urged her, pointing to the food the serving girl and long since put in their places. 

 

The girl picked at her food but did her best to follow his orders. 

 

_ ‘I need to get her out of here, and fast.’ _ Figuring it was better he move through the common room instead of her, Sandor decided it best he ask for accomodation and get her locked up and feeling safe as soon as possible. 

 

“Stay here, I’m going to get us a room.” She looked like she wanted to protest, but Sandor narrowed his eyes as a warning not to. At that Sansa nodded, not happy with his choice but knowing she couldn’t very well argue with him here.

 

Getting up from the table, Sandor passed the mass of soldiers without any of them really paying him any mind, and made his way toward a side room where he assumed the registration desk was. They needed a room with a big bed and a toilet and that was really it. Anything would be better than sleeping in the rough as they had been. Of course they came on a night when the inn was understaffed to handle this amount of people -- so he rang the little bell and waited. 

 

He waited and then waited some more.

 

Finally, as his nerves threatened to boil over, an old man came to the desk. The exchange was fast after this, some coins were given -- a key in return and it was over in a matter of moments. Having been so lost in his own anger, Sandor hadn’t picked up on the increase in volume coming from the common room of the inn until he turned to go back inside of it. 

 

There was a tension filling the room and it wasn’t hard to understand why. The men had found Sansa sitting alone in the back of the common room and had pulled her over to their tables where they were playing various drunken guessing games. The brats had no idea who she was, being both far too drunk and far too low ranking to identify her. Instead they were urging her to play along, begging her to quite literally grace them with her presence. Sansa was mortified, Sandor could see the way her skin had turned a paler shade of white, the way her eyes bugged out of her head in distress. There was nothing innocent about their advances either and Sandor knew it -- soon they would be fighting over who would take her to bed then it would descend into who would take her first and who got the sloppy seconds or thirds. 

 

_ ‘There are only a few options.’  _ Sandor thought to himself.  _ ‘Either I let this play out and wait for them to fight over her.’  _ He quickly shook that possibility out of his head. Sansa would most certainly crack before then, he’d need to act sooner than that.  _ ‘I could try to reason with them.’  _ That seemed ridiculous as well, they were only egging one another on -- escalating the situation and not helping it.  _ ‘Or I could go in there and give them shit -- hope to intimidate them into backing down but knowing it could get messy.’ _

 

The final option seemed the only one that made sense, given the circumstances. Aside from that, he’d been itching for a bit of action since he had been strung up in that fruit cellar a few days back. ‘ _ Perhaps it’ll even be fun.’  _

 

“Now boys I don’t think my lady friend here is enjoying your company.” Sandor’s voice boomed over the other chatter, bringing the room to silence. Sandor put his hand on Sansa’s shoulder then looked around the table to see if a leader would emerge.

 

Finally the guy next to her spoke, turning his head and looking up at Sandor. “We saw you walk in, it didn’t look like she was enjoying your company much either bub.”

 

Sandor stared at the young man, hoping his size and glare would be enough to intimidate him. But clearly, being surrounded by friends and comrades with weapons, he was more apt to show courage than fear. Sandor was also unarmed -- which would only fuel the lad’s false sense of security.

 

“Well then it seems like we’ve had a misunderstanding. No harm done.” Sandor scanned the room, all eyes were on them now -- drunken eyes but eyes all the same. “Come on woman let’s go.”

 

“Not so fast friend.” The young man now stood from the bench and was standing nearly chest to chest with Sandor. He was tall for sure, but not so broad and big as he thought he was.  _ ‘This will escalate quickly.’  _

 

“The lady stays with us.” Were the final words that came from the man’s mouth before Sandor smashed him in the face while taking his side arm and shooting the guy across from them right between the eyes. Kicking Sansa’s stool out from under her, she fell down to the floor and quickly rolled under the table. In the drunken chaos Sandor got off three more shots, three more kills as he held his dear young soldier friend in front of him to take most of the flack. His human shield no longer breathing, Sandor discarded him on the floor, then he too darted under the table.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Sansa was angry whispering, as if it mattered now that all the guns were going off and men were stumbling around the room.

 

“Saving you.” Sandor said with a grin. “Now pick up a gun, because we’re outnumbered.” She rolled her eyes at his flippancy but did just that.

 

Before long they had rolled out from the table back into the chaos in the room. Sandor was grateful for the simple fact that they were all shit for shots -- probably they had been heavily drinking for hours before he and Sansa had arrived. That notwithstanding Sandor felt a few bullets whiz past him -- close calls for sure, but he loved it. No matter what, this was exactly the kind of action he needed -- the feel of his finger on the trigger, the chaos that had erupted in the room.  

 

Much to Sandor’s great satisfaction both he and the redhead cleaned up the room. When the noise had died down and the chaos had stopped Sandor took a good look around.

 

_ ‘We fucking shot the place up.’ _ He grinned to himself. It was fucking boring on the road, he’d been itching for action. Turning to Sansa he could see this look of wide eyed disbelief that they had actually made it and lived -- a smile also adorning her beautiful face.

 

She turned to him, high on her own adrenaline, and he motioned to the door. No time to admire their work now, they had things to do. As in get the fuck out of there. They bolted for the door before the inn keeper had a chance to really see what had happened. They were an easy pair to identify so there was no point in sticking around and making it any easier for him. Grabbing their horses, the they left the secluded inn at a gallop. 

 

After some time and as Sandor felt they were not being followed they slowed down, their horses happy for the rest. “I still can’t believe we did that.” Sansa said, more in awe of what they had accomplished instead of put off. “I mean you didn’t waste a bullet. It was just like boom, boom, boom!”

 

Sandor couldn’t help but chuckle a bit. She was recounting the story as if he were some kind of action hero, as if the things he loved to do were the most incredible things ever -- and not crimes against man as Sandor knew they were. 

 

“That’s my job little bird, and I’m not dead yet -- so I can’t be too bad at it.” He smirked as he said it because of the way she was looking at him. Like she was looking up to him -- as if he’d impressed her with his skills though he hadn’t really set out to. Gone was the nervousness she had built up as they came closer to King’s Landing and in its place excitement and perhaps even confidence that they could pull off the plan she had to get the codes. 

 

Sandor looked down at Stranger a moment, watching him eye Sansa’s filly lustfully. It couldn’t have been more fitting of how Sandor was starting to feel for the girl himself. This simple extraction mission had indeed become more complicated than he had originally thought. But that was half the fun, wasn’t it?

 


End file.
